She began to form a pitch in her head.The link between wine and people through the ages. How war and bad harvests affected the wine and those involved in its production.Lighthearted but informative entertainment, the kind of thing that made viewers feel smart because they were learning something. It felt wonderful to be completely absorbed, totally swept away: the same way she had had felt while learning about wine in the early days of her training. That had been a transformative experience. All the aromas and tastes she already knew had become more real once she understood theflavors: where they came from, how they had developed; which aspects had to do with the variety of grape, the climate, the soil, and which could be attributed to the manner in which the wine had been fermented and stored.
She had sent lots of questions about the bottle to Camille, who’d promised to get back to her. Maybe Bente was wasting her time, but if it turned out that the bottle actually did have an interesting history, she’d be prepared to move forward and pitch the idea to a production company.
When she emerged from the shower, she had several new messages from Camille, including lists of the addresses where the French ship’s cargo had been scheduled to be sent. There was an address in Vetlanda, in Sweden, which Bente was determined to follow up on.
The walk to the restaurant was short. It was a beautiful afternoon, and she could almost feel spring in the air, which was slightly damp, a shift from the bone-dryness of winter. There was the faintest hint of budding new life.
The restaurant dining room was empty when she arrived, but she could hear clattering from the kitchen. She poked her head in and said hi to Emil, the chef, before getting changed into her work clothes.
Ellie showed up a couple of minutes later, and when they returned to the dining room, Tomas was there.
“Hi, girls. Good description of the wines yesterday, Bente. I’ve already updated the wine list.”
Bente nodded. When Tomas was in a good mood, he wasn’t slow to give praise. Maybe she was being a little too negative about the job? When she first got the post as sommelier, everything had felt so right. She would be responsible for the wines, have her own budget, and be tasked with making sure the restaurant’s wine cellar was something special, as she wassuch a good sommelier. That was how Tomas had described her. He had promised that, because of her expertise, she would be able to travel to France and visit vineyards in order to source unique wines for the bar. However, those trips had never materialized. Bente made recommendations about which wines to buy, but the final decisions were alwaysTomas’s, because he wanted to keep an eye on expenses, and there was no further mention of a budget of her own. Apart from Tomas, though, her colleagues were fantastic, which counted for a great deal. Besides which, sheneededthis job.
Tomas had written up the evening’s dishes on the chalkboard in the middle of the restaurant. If Bente had been running the place, she would have made radical alterations to the menu, including dishes with a little more finesse, that matched the wine list. She would have invested in some of those new corkscrews that allowed you to draw off the wine without opening the bottle; they made a small hole in the cork, which meant that the wine lasted as long as if the bottle had never been opened. In the wider context, it was such a small investment, but Tomas was too mean to agree to it, and as a result they always served the same old wines by the glass.
Several more colleagues arrived, some of them talking about the previous night at the restaurant. Bente always appreciated these moments when everyone was together, preparing for the evening to come. Even Tomas seemed to see the value in these discussions, and was often capable of boosting everyone’s mood.
“Well done yesterday, those of you who were on duty,” he began with a smile. “And our YouTuber.” He looked at Bente; the nickname was loaded with contempt even though he always smiled as if it were meant kindly. “And no one ran away without paying their check.” He laughed loudly and winked. No one else laughed. The joke wasn’t particularly clever, and Bente was heartily sick of being the target of his humor. The fact that his jokes weren’t even funny made the whole thing even more humiliating.
She stared back at him, her face expressionless. Unmoved. She had no intention of letting him see how his words affected her. To be fair, it wasn’t actually the words that bothered her, but rather the sense of being exposed in front of her coworkers, who always looked uncomfortable in these situations. Ellie used to speak up on her friend’s behalf, but Bente had asked her to stop—it just gave Tomas more fuel for his fire.
Tomas continued to run through the evening before them, explaining who was doing what and noting any special bookings.
They ate a quick dinner, a croque madame rustled up by the chef.This would make a fantastic addition to the menu,Bente thought as she bit into the crunchy bread. As usual, everyone chatted and laughed during the meal, but staff dinners weren’t as relaxed when Tomas was there. He had decided to stay on for a while tonight to “help out.”
Soon the first guests arrived. As the evening went on, several diners ordered wine by the glass, so Bente’s job mostly involved making simple recommendations and serving the wines.
She was opening the fourth bottle of house red when she heard a voice beside the bar. “Bente?”
She turned around and saw Elnaz, the features editor with the production company Bente had worked with in the past. Seeing Elnaz here was like an echo from the past. She was perched on a barstool and was dressed all in black, her signature look, including a pair of Doc Martens. Even when they had been recording the cookery show in France during a hot week in summer, Elnaz had never taken off her beloved boots; she had, however, swapped her customary sweater for a thinner T-shirt and her jeans for a skirt. In black.
“Hi.” Bente put down the bottle. She had always liked Elnaz. They hadn’t exactly been friends, but they had gotten along well, and had made several shows together. Bente hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from TV, and was genuinely pleased to see Elnaz, who had her laptop and a large glass of red on the bar in front of her.
Elnaz beamed, stood up, and gave Bente a hug.
“Are you working?” Bente nodded at the laptop.
“Yes—I’m waiting for someone to join me, and thought I’d deal with a few emails.”
“Are you still with Palento?”
“I am, but as a producer now.” Elnaz smiled, her eyes glowing with pride. She had always worked hard—her promotion was well deserved.
“Wow, congratulations! I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Thanks. So I’m flat out looking for interesting ideas—we need something new. I’m actually about to discuss an exciting concept, if my date bothers to show up.” She glanced at her watch.
“Sounds good.” Bente was aware of Tomas’s curious scrutiny from behind the bar. She suddenly thought about the bottle from the bottom of the sea, but immediately dismissed the idea.
“And are you still in TV?” Elnaz asked.
“No, not at all.”
Should she say something anyway, mention the fact that she had plans for a concept for a TV show?
“Here he is.” Elnaz’s face lit up and she waved to someone behind Bente, who turned to see a man with curly dark hair and round glasses wearing an olive-green coat over a smart tweed jacket. She realized she was staring. The man was Didrik Holgersson, the TV historian. The hum of conversation in the restaurant stopped for a few seconds. Everyone’s attention was focused on Didrik, who seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having. He raised a hand to greet Elnaz.
